Notes: Inspired by my violin teacher, whose name need not be mentioned, some Korean kid on YouTube who plays the violin like a pro, and of course, the great Antonio Vivaldi for his awesome pieces, especially The Four Seasons. There's a lot of OOC in this one-shot. I enjoy reviews and CONSTRUCTIVE criticisms. :)
A Little Summer Music
It never hurt to apply too much. Too little is dangerous, but too much wasn't. It wasn't like eating; too little and too much of food is dangerous. But this was just rosin against horse-hair. With the next piece carefully placed on its stand, Kamiya Kaoru needed all the rosin she could get.
Summer 3rd Movement by Antonio Vivaldi, in Presto, First Violin, it read. She glanced at the page. She was more than ready. One more piece, she thought. Like the great Jascha Heifetz once said, "If I don't practice one day, I know it; two days, the critics know it; three days, the public knows it." She couldn't have said it better. This quote was her oxygen. Note, WAS.
As she rubbed the sticky stone against the smooth white horse-hair, her thoughts wandered. Her life was carefully planned long before she was born. Born to the prominent Kamiya-name, she was expected to be no less of a genius than her ancestors. But then she turned out to be the first of her kind. The Kamiya's were proud of their long-line of prodigious pianists. Hoping to continue the legacy, the last living Kamiya household introduced Kaoru to the instrument at the mere age of two. To her parents', not to mention her dead ancestors', dismay, she showed no interest for it.
The raven-headed girl sighed as she put down her bow, finally satisfied with the amount of rosin on the strands of long white hair. She tied her hair up into a high ponytail, preparing for her warm-ups. Her blue eyes, steady on her piece. You would think that someone as renowned as Kamiya Kaoru would show more class in her apparel, but she wasn't. Clad only with a white poofy-sleeved top that reached her buttocks, accentuating her womanly curves, and a short pleated black skirt that hung right above her knees and glossy Mary-Janes, she made it a point to those who saw her that she was, indeed, a musician, but that she was also like any other girl in the world, although the latter point was constantly missed. Living under the Kamiya name was hard enough; she didn't need any more pressure or attention.
The sound of strings appealed to her more, even as a child. The piano is stringed, she would clarify to those who asked, but the sound was incomparable to the angelic tone the violin produced. She adapted to the instrument surprisingly fast. At ten, she was already playing solos in front of huge crowds, concluded by deafening standing ovations. The audience was obviously amazed. 'Nothing less from the Kamiya's,' they thought.
She was sent to the West to study under more advanced instructors. But she was too much for them to handle. She moved around from country to country during her adolescence, her parents searching worthy mentors for her gain. She finally flew back to Japan years later, self-actualized. Or so they thought.
She sat on a wooden stool and did her bow warm-ups. She held the bow carefully with her right hand, each finger perfectly in place. She pushed her pinky down on the frog of the bow slowly, allowing it to rise, like a wind-shield wiper. With finesse, she then stirred the bow in slow circles, perfectly upright. Her eyes wandered around the spacious room she was in. The floors were made of wood, and one side of the walls curved into a half circle, where large glass windows allowed her to see the view of a lush garden below. It was lit by pure sunlight. The room was barely furnished. Except for the small stool she was sitting on, the music stand, and a small table that only a tuning fork lay on top of. She sat in the very middle of the room, her precious Guarneri lying on the floor.
She picked up the ancient violin and stroked her bow softly on the A-string, tuning the rest from there. She faced the music stand, ready as always. She reviewed the piece quickly, her blue eyes unfaltering.
She inhaled deeply, and began.
The countless sixteenth-notes were no match for her speed and accuracy. It was easy as cake, but the meaning behind the piece tortured her. The fast tempo, the quick shifts, the slides, and the transitions of speed and softness reminded her of her own life.
Breathing on the outside, dying in the inside. Could there be more to this? Was she really just meant to play until she grew old? Was this really what she wanted? And what of her destiny? The same questions never escaped her mind ever since she got back. She had achieved what many could not. She was an enviable form in the world of music. She was incomplete.
Her parents, no, everybody loved her talent! But never her.
She wondered constantly why she had chosen this path. Because of the name she carried? Because of the expectations of many from her? Why? Her mind boggled but nonetheless, it did not bother her perfect performance.
She was so mad at herself. She felt like a Jukebox with only classical songs stored. A jukebox so unappreciated, that when it finally breaks, the damages weighed more than the successes.
The great Kamiya Kaoru was a nutcase.
She stroked the strings harder; the rosin she had liberally applied flew from her strings in the form of a thick, white powdery cloud.
In the middle of the piece though, she was reminded of the one dearest to her who saw her, not as a musical protégé, not as a freak, nor a rich brat, and most definitely not as a jukebox, but as a woman…a person.
A person with feelings, fears, joys, and everything that came with being alive. Around him, she felt real, secure, alive, even. She gave the violin her soul, but it had nothing to offer her in return. Unlike he, who had given her the sense of existence. She was ever grateful to him.
To Himura Kenshin.
She suddenly stopped a quarter from the end of the piece and opened her eyes slowly. She heaved a sigh and smiled.
"Why did you stop?" the familiar voice rang in her ears. She turned around, bow and violin still in her hands. He was a sight of peace. His simple attire, a plain black shirt, some jeans and a pair of Chucks, seemed to compliment his unusual auburn hair. He was her home, so to speak. She only smiled. A sincere smile. Something that she could never do without his presence.
She put her Guarneri and bow down as he walked closer to her with a great smile plastered on his face. She stood up to meet him face-to-face. His amethyst eyes seemed to twinkle at her, she blushed at her own imagination.
"I brought you something." He said, revealing a large blue box which he had concealed behind his back. There was a simple yellow bow on top and a card with a heart drawn on it. She looked at him in surprise, smiling even wider, "What's inside?" She excitedly snatched the box from him and opened it hurriedly.
Her eyes widened when she saw the contents of the box. It was a Bishon Frise.
"Kenshin…" she exclaimed in a small voice. The box was forgotten, while the happy mutt gained all the attention. "You didn't just…?"
"I just did." He said, placing his arms around her waist. She put the Bishon down and gave him a thankful hug, "Happy Birthday," he whispered, caressing her curvy back. Tears welled up in her eyes. She had always wanted a puppy.
"What's his name?" She held his hand as they walked out of the spacious room, with the Bishon following them in a cheery manner.
"Vivaldi." Kenshin replied. The doors closed and the room echoed its shut.
And what of the violin? It was long forgotten.
Notes: Also in memory of Zach, my Bishon. :'(